


The Beginning of After

by GoingNova



Series: Interning at Stark Industries [3]
Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More like Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Trans Peter Parker, everyone's messed up after the IW ends, let's see if i can keep that promise, ngl i'm playing a bit fast and loose with comic canon, not just the peter/johnny romance angle, pretty heavy emphasis on Tony and Peter's TOTALLY PLATONIC relationship too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoingNova/pseuds/GoingNova
Summary: The Infinity Stones are destroyed. Thanos is dead, the universe is restored, the war is over. Life now seems to have sharp divides. Before the war, things were simpler. During the war, things were chaos. After the war, people are just trying to come to terms with what happened during the war.And then a rocket-- designed, built, and launched on Earth --crash lands in Ithaca, New York.(pre How (Not) to Lay Low at Stark Industries, but can be read as a stand-alone)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk dude this concept just kept throwing itself at my muse so here's the get-together fic and because I have no self control it's chaptered ig so here take this.
> 
> seems like I should take this opportunity to mention that I don't use a particular version of Peter. like, in my head I imagine Tom Holland but my Peter is kind of a hybrid of comicverse Peter and MCU Peter. all the cuteness and obliviousness of MCU Pete, all the sass and occasional assholishness of comicverse Pete

The crash happens less than a month after the Infinity Stones are destroyed.

Everyone in the world is recovering still. Infrastructures are being repaired, schools and nonessential businesses are still closed, and everyone is keeping their loved ones close. People don’t leave their houses as much, preferring to keep an eye on each other in case someone disappears. The streets of New York have been quieter before, but not by much. And not for so long.

Asgardian refugees are settling in Wakanda, Loki included. Half the Avengers have been dispatched to keep an eye on him while the rest of them disperse around the world to wherever they’re needed. The Accords are rewritten, amended, and Mr. Stark all but ties Captain America down and makes him actually read through them this time before he leaves for Wakanda so he’ll know it’s a fair deal for him and the other enhanced individuals who might join the Avengers at some point.

Mr. Stark pulls some strings to keep himself stationed primarily in New York, and Peter knows it’s because of him. Aunt May survived the Snap, and so did Ms. Potts and Mr. Rhodes. There’s nothing keeping Mr. Stark in New York besides Peter, and the fear that he might vanish into dust again.

His suspicions are confirmed when he finds out that, since their apartment building was destroyed when someone was kil _dusted_ , while cooking, Aunt May and Peter are living in one of the motels being rented out by the government. Mr. Stark has them moved into the Tower the very next day, with Peter’s room between his own and the one he offers Aunt May.

“No point in you guys taking up beds someone else might need when you’ve got somewhere to go,” Mr. Stark says when they try to thank him.

There’s something in his eyes sometimes though, when Peter has a nightmare or isn’t quite fast enough to dodge that mugger’s right hook during patrol, that makes Peter think that underneath the bravado Mr. Stark is relieved to have him close by.

Peter doesn’t say anything about it, but he feels better knowing that the two of them are around, too.

It takes some doing, but Aunt May eventually relents and lets Peter join the recovery efforts as Spiderman as long as Mr. Stark is on whatever assignment he’s on.

It's pure coincidence that they're in Ithaca when the rocket crashes. They were helping the government workers clear out debris from when a previously-manned helicopter crashed into a free clinic. Now they're trying everything they can to prevent more damage.

“It's going too fast for me and the suits to catch, kid,” Tony warns him over the comms when it enters orbit. “You've got about five minutes to get the immediate area evacuated, can you do it?”

“Yes, sir!” It's mostly clear anyway, but he can have Karen scan for stragglers within a two block radius to be safe.

He gets the area clear in time, but doesn’t manage to get far from the crash site.

Rocket crashes, Peter learns, are deafening. Even through the filter of the Iron Spider suit, the _crunch_ of metal on asphalt grates on his ears in the silence of the city. The heat wave from the initial explosion is boiling, and he’s lucky he’s wearing his mask because the smell of ash and fuel is undoubtedly even worse without it.

“Karen, scan for signs of life,” he says once he can hear again.

“Four life forms are still on the ship, Peter.” The holographic display shows their location. “I estimate four minutes until the ship explodes from the fuel leakage.”

Mr. Stark lands next to him before he can panic. “You take the two on the left, I’ll take right.”

“Yes sir.”

He can’t decide if it’s lucky or unlucky that the wreckage is so hot. On one hand, it’s easier to rip pieces off the ship in larger pieces. On the other hand, the smoke is making it really difficult to see.

“Infrared,” Peter orders once it gets impenetrable, and Karen switches to infrared mode immediately. It takes him less than a minute to get through the rest of the outer casing.

The flames are roaring, the heat snapping wires and making screws squeak. But over the din, Peter can hear an almost inaudible _“Sue!”_

Peter can make out two figures with the infrared vision, and he reaches out to the upright one, the one that’s conscious. “I’ll get you both out of here! Take my hand.”

He doesn’t expect the unconscious body to be pushed weakly into his arms instead. “Take her first,” the guy says, voice weak and raspy from smoke inhalation.

“Get out of there kid, there’s less than a minute ‘till this thing is gonna blow,” Mr. Stark says through the comms. He sounds panicky, the way he always does when he’s too far away to help.

He doesn’t have much time, but… “I’ll be back for you. Just stay put,” he swears, turning tail and rushing the woman out of the ship as fast as he can.

Mr. Stark is a little way away with the other two victims, who look like they’re also unconscious. He lays the woman down carefully next to the larger of the two before turning to run back. Mr. Stark grabs him by the arm.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Underoos? That thing’s gonna blow any second.”

As if Peter doesn’t know that. “There’s someone else in there Mr. Stark, he’s alive! I have to go get him.”

It’s not fair to Mr. Stark, he knows. There’s a lot to unpack between the two of them, a lot of things that have gone unsaid in the wake of the universe being put back to rights, but Peter knows the thought of him dying keeps the man up at night. The rocket could blow up, this could all be for nothing and Peter could die along with the boy who’d given up his shot at safety. But if he has to choose between hurting someone he cares about or letting an innocent person die, he’s not going to think twice.

He rips his arm out of Mr. Stark’s hold and dashes back into the wreckage, making a beeline for where he’d left the other boy before. The wreckage is collapsing already, large pieces of machinery and structural elements crashing down around him and bringing back several unpleasant memories that he shoves to the back of his mind for later.

The boy is right where he was before, which is good because otherwise Peter would have missed him entirely. His body temperature is only barely below that of the fire; he’s nearly invisible on the infrared scanner.

Peter holds out his hand again. “Come on, this thing is about to blow!”

The boy takes his hand, grip weak. Peter isn’t sure if he’ll be able to stand, so he scoops him up into a fireman’s carry and books it out of there as fast as he can.

They almost make it out of the rocket before it explodes.

The force of it sends both of them flying. Peter tightens his hold on the other boy instinctively before his suit's extra legs deploy, righting them before they land headfirst on the asphalt.

“FRIDAY, give me Spiderman’s vitals!” he hears Mr. Stark say from over by the other three survivors. He sounds panicked, but Peter can’t see him from here. Not that it would matter if the faceplate was down.

“I’m alright, Mr. Stark,” he manages, using the mechanical legs as supports to get him moving. “Got the guy out. We’re good.”

The guy he saved is conscious, but just barely. Peter switches back out of infrared vision and works on getting them around the wreckage and over to the rendezvous point.

“I'm getting way too old for this, kid" Mr. Stark grouses over the comms. “I have a bad heart to begin with.”

“You've got at least half your life left, sir.” He’s only kidding a little bit. Tony Stark is going to live another 60 years at least. More, if they can find a way to make it happen. The alternative isn't even worth considering.

“Yeah probably,” Mr. Stark says agreeably. “So stop trying to make sure I outlive you.” _Again._

The word hangs unspoken between them, like so many other things. Peter just shakes his head and focuses on getting this guy to the other side of the rocket.

Slowly but surely, he gets there. His head is still spinning from the lightshow and the noise and the heat from that explosion, so he's not planning on pushing too hard. Not with an injured person depending on him.

He takes the long way, around where the nose of the rocket used to be; going around the back near the thrusters, while it would have taken less time, would have been stupid.

A faint “Reed? Suzie?” comes over the comms and Peter can only assume that someone woke up.

“Your friends are alright,” Mr. Stark is quick to say. “We're going to transfer you to our medical facility in the city. Get you guys checked out and treated.”

The red and gold of Mr. Stark’s suit comes into view just as Peter hears a louder “God, the kid! Where’s Johnny?”

Peter can only assume that’s the person he’s carrying over his shoulder. “Mr. Stark, could I get a little help?”

The helmet whips around in Peter’s direction. Once he catches sight of Peter, Mr. Stark rushes over and takes the guy Johnny off his hands just as he’s beginning to stagger under the weight.

Ridiculous, Peter thinks. I can lift a truck with one hand but I can’t carry a single guy.

“Don’t beat yourself up kid,” Mr. Stark says, patting Peter’s shoulder with his free hand. “You’re pretty banged up yourself. FRIDAY says you've got heat stroke and a pretty bad case of heat exhaustion.”

That’s another elephant in the room. Mr. Stark is much more free with touch now. Since they fixed everything and Peter had collapsed into his arms, it's like some barrier has broken. Like so many other things, they don't address it.

But now that he mentions it… “I'm a little dizzy.”

Which isn't a lie, but may or may not be an understatement. Which Mr. Stark probably already figured out.

“Yeah, I figured.” Mr. Stark sounds just the tiniest bit exasperated as he lays the boy down next to his friends. Ambulance sirens sound in the distance, but Peter knows better than to think they’re normal ambulances if Mr. Stark is planning on taking these people to the medbay. “We’ll get you cooled off back at the Tower, alright?”

“Cool. Good. Good plan.”

It takes a lot to give Peter heat stroke. Takes a lot to hurt him at all, really. But once he wakes up from his nap in his designated cot in medbay (annoyingly, it has his name on it an everything; he’s here a lot), he’s pretty sure FRIDAY was right.

Naturally.

The air conditioning is really doing wonders for him though; now that he’s awake, it seems like his healing factor has taken care of the rest. He’s right as rain.

Someone a few cots over groans and rolls over, and he remembers that he’s not the only one there. If he listens carefully, he can hear Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner in the next room over, talking to someone.

“I understand that it’s difficult, Mr. Grim, but”

“I ain’t sayin’ a _damn_ word until Reed ‘n Suzie wake up,” a voice snarls. With a jolt, Peter recognizes the voice that was talking to Mr. Stark. One of the people from the crash. “Isn’t it bad enough I look like _this?_ I’m not gonna be interrogated right now.”

Dr. Banner sighs. “Fair enough.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Peter looks down and sees that he’s still in the boxers and tank top he wears under the suit. A change of clothes is sitting on the chair next to the cot, folded haphazardly. One of his newer binders lays on top, a clear sign that the next time Mr. Stark sees him, he’s in intern mode.

Well, obviously, Peter thinks, pulling the privacy curtain shut before he tugs off the tank top. He doesn’t make a habit of roaming around in the suit, especially if there are people around who don’t already know him. The mask is saved for webslinging.

“Peter, the Thai food Mr. Stark ordered is here. Should I have someone bring it up or do you want to go get it?” Karen’s voice comes from his Starkwatch, startling him as he pulls on his socks.

“I’ll go get it,” he says softly. There are still people resting in here, and getting the food will at least give him a reason to get away from the reeking antiseptic medbay air.

He pulls his shoes and backpack on and heads down to the lobby.

Jackson grins at him from the front desk, not even looking surprised to see him. The bags of takeout are stacked on either side of the clipboard he uses to keep track of appointments. “I take it these are yours?”

“Yeah.” Peter grins and grabs a bag with each hand. “Gonna be a long night.”

“When isn’t it, with you?”

Ooh, burn. But he’s got a point, so Peter just rolls his eyes and waves as he heads back upstairs. For a moment he’s tempted to actually take the stairs, but even with his powers it’ll take too long to get to the ninetieth floor. So he grits his teeth and takes the elevator.

“Floor ninety,” FRIDAY’s cool voice says over the speaker as the doors slide blessedly open.

Peter takes a deep, steadying breath as soon as he’s out of the tiny steel death compartment that is the elevator. He’s not dealing with that particular issue. Nope. Not today. Preferably not ever.

He shakes his head and starts walking. As he passes the kitchenette, he grabs a handful of forks, mindful of the possibility that someone else had woken up while he was gone. Then he turns down the hall toward Dr. Banner’s office.

It sounds like they’ve reached some kind of standstill.

Peter taps his knuckles lightly on the door before pushing it open. “Knock knock.”

Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, and surprisingly enough, Clint Barton are sitting side by side, across from… Wow, is that a living rock? Cool. Well, less cool because the living rock _was_ only scowling at the adults in the room but now he’s scowling at Peter, albeit with a bit more confusion.

“Who’re you?” At least his tone isn’t as angry as Peter expected, given the conversation he’d heard earlier.

“Peter Parker. Paid slave.” The last bit slips out completely out of habit, and both Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark wince because. Context.

“He’s Tony’s kid,” Clint says, not looking uncomfortable in the slightest as he messes with a rubix cube.

 _“Intern.”_ Both Peter and Mr. Stark stress at the same time. He’s pretty sure he sees Mr. Stark’s eye twitch. Dr. Banner says nothing, but Peter sees the amused tilt of his eyebrows.

The rock man makes a thoughtful noise, still eyeing Peter a little suspiciously. “You’re not screaming.”

“What?” Peter blinks. “Why would I? You’re not one of the bad guys.”

Mr. Starks shakes his head in defeat, mouthing _bad guys_ to himself. But the rock man looks startled.

“Anyway,” Peter says, feeling the air grow heavy with awkwardness. “I brought foods. Many of them.”

He holds up the bags, only to have them taken out of his hands immediately by Clint. “You’re a lifesaver, kid.”

“You may as well sit down and eat with us,” Bruce says in that quiet doctor tone that says this definitely isn’t an option.

“Yeah kid, there’s enough to go around.” Mr. Stark doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s typing on his phone, but Peter’s getting the same vibe from him as he is from Dr. Banner.

It’s immensely difficult not to roll his eyes at the mother henning they’re doing, but there’s someone in the room who not only doesn’t know his secret identity, but seems to be focusing on the weirdness that is him. So he manages not to be snarky and instead sits in the free chair by the rock man.

Clint divvies up the food, piling Peter and the rock man’s paper plates high while Peter nabs one of the forks.

“What kind of heathen eats noodles with a fork?” Clint asks, as he always does when they eat together.

This time Peter really can’t resist. “The kind that likes this shirt and doesn’t wanna drop noodles on it.”

“I’ll set him straight, got a business trip to China planned in a few months.” Mr. Stark finally puts down his phone in favor of the food.

“I’ll eat my noodles however I want, thanks. Anyway,” he changes the subject, turning toward the rock man, “What’s your name? Or like, your superhero code name or your less secret identity or whatever?”

The rock man looks at Peter with an unreadable expression. He hasn’t touched his food, which is… well, disappointing if unsurprising, after the day he’s had. “Ben. Ben Grimm.”

Ben Grimm... that name is familiar. It only takes Peter a few seconds to remember, and when he does it’s almost like meeting Dr. Banner all over again.

“Oh my gosh you’re Ben Grimm? Like, the guy who wrote that paper on particle physics that got published even though it wasn’t a doctoral thesis and introduced the possibility of using photons as a theoretical basis for teleportation Ben Grimm?”

Mr. Grimm looks slightly overwhelmed. “Aren’t you like twelve?”

Peter pretends not to notice Clint snickering under his breath. “Now you've gotten him started.”

Talking to Mr. Grimm (“Call me Ben, kid. I’m not that old.”) is easy. Talking to the other people they rescued is… less so.

About twenty minutes later, the blonde boy Peter almost died rescuing wakes up. Ben says his name is Jonathan Storm, and he’s almost seventeen. Only a little less than a year older than Peter. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the type of tan that only persists into November on a jock. If he didn’t look like he’d just survived a rocket crash, Peter bets he’d be a pretty solid 10/10 in the Generic White Boy category.

Now, why the heck a seventeen year old was on an illegal rocket launch in the first place is something Peter plans on looking into at a Time Which is Not Now. Right now, Jonathon is more concerned with Ben and his older sister, who’s still out.

“I’d like to do a once over exam to make sure you’re alright, if that’s okay Mr. Storm.” Dr. Banner’s voice lacks the listen-to-me-now edge now that he’s dealing with a teenager who’s acting like a caged animal.

Jonathan's eyes flick over to the cot next to him, where a pretty woman with hair identical to his lies prone. Then he looks at Dr. Banner, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re Bruce Banner.”

“I am.”

“This isn’t even a hospital. You don’t have a medical degree.” Jonathan crosses his arms. To his credit, when he realizes how big a mistake that is with three broken ribs (Peter knows from experience), he keeps his flinch under admirable control.

“I don’t, but the Avengers’ on call medical expert does.” Dr. Banner gives him a gentle smile. “According to her, all of you came out of that crash remarkably unscathed, considering what should have happened. And given whatever happened to Mr. Grimm while you were in space, I just want to make sure that your body hasn’t been altered on a molecular level.”

“Which he _does_ have a few degrees in,” Mr. Stark chimes in, on his phone again. “Plus some life experience.”

Ben makes a small movement with his hand that Peter realizes is an aborted motion to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t gotta worry about it right now, kid. You can wait ‘till Suzie wakes up. Just wanna make sure you don’t look like… this, at the end of the day.”

He glares at the rest of them, daring someone to challenge his decision to let Jonathan wait. Personally, Peter doesn’t see the harm in letting him wait. Actually, strike that; he knows a little bit about what Johnathan is feeling, and doesn’t think he’d be responding any different.

Dr. Banner doesn’t seem to agree. “I know it’s tough, but we still don’t know what happened out there. It might not be safe to leave you alone in here.”

That was one thousand percent the wrong thing to say, Peter thinks. Or at least the wrong way to phrase it.

Before Jonathan or Ben can say something scathing that’ll escalate the situation, Peter cuts in. “Then don’t leave him here alone. Can’t someone just stay and make sure nothing happens to him?”

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at him. “You volunteering, squirt?”

Well. He walked right into that one, didn’t he?

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He looks at Jonathan, who looks like he’s more focused on his sister’s limp hand in his own, and flashes back to three years ago, living his own horror story by a hospital bedside. “It’s not a big deal. I can work from in here, and I know the sort of thing you guys are looking for.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Clint says, cleaning his fingernails with a small knife. Peter almost forgot he was here, he was so quiet. Sometimes he forgets that Clint’s superspy skills are second only to Ms. Natasha.

“I don’t like it,” Dr. Banner says. He looks at Mr. Stark sharply. “I don’t like that Peter’s involved at _all._ ”

That’s beyond an old argument at this point, so Mr. Stark waves him off. “Sucks. You’re outvoted. Pete, you let us know the second something changes. I have an emergency meeting with the secretary of defense about all this, but I’ll come back ASAP.”

“Will do, Mr. Stark!”

Mr. Stark narrows his eyes at him, but doesn't correct him the way he normally would. Peter counts that as a win.

He and Clint all but push an immensely reluctant Dr. Banner out the door.

Ben lingers for a second to talk to Jonathan. “They're alright, Johnny. Know you're not a fan, but the Avengers’ equipment is top of the line.”

All he gets in response is an unintelligible grunt, which is actually more than Peter expected.

Ben looks a little bit lost, but he just turns to Peter. “I told ‘em I'd do some tests once I knew they'd wake up, see if Banner could reverse this. Are they gonna let me know if"

“Yes,” Peter says immediately. “I'll make sure of it.”

He can recognize an adult trying to be strong when he sees one, and Ben is definitely doing that for Jonathan. The guy’s skin is made of _rock_ now, but he's got to keep it together for this kid who probably shouldn't have even been on that ship in the first place. Peter’s seen this sort of thing too many times to even consider doing something that would make things any harder on Ben.

“Thanks, kid.”

Peter nods and smiles reassuringly at Ben as he leaves. Then it's just him, Jonathan, and his very unconscious siblings.

There's absolutely no way Johnathan is up for conversation right now, so Peter doesn't even try. Instead he pulls his tablet out of his backpack and answers his missed message from Shuri about the cryocube plans.

She seems intrigued by the idea of cooling down nitrogen and says that its it's going to be her top priority out of her extracurricular projects, which is actually super cool and less demeaning than Peter would have thought a few months ago, given how many things that girl is working on at any given time.

Until she gets back to him, he can't make any more progress on that, so he moves on to his new taser web formula.

A few weeks ago he made the unfortunate discovery that because of its higher conductivity, the taser web’s tensile strength is significantly lower than most of his other webs. It's not a huge deal, since he doesn't use them too often, but most projects are on hold while the world recovers so he doesn't have much else to do.

He works in near silence, studiously ignoring the nearly inaudible sniffling from where Jonathan is sitting by his sister's bed.

Honestly? Peter isn't even sure how he's managing to sit upright with his injuries, but he's not about to risk telling the guy to lay back down.

“Thanks,” Jonathan says suddenly. He's not facing Peter, doesn't turn around at all. “For sticking your neck out for me like that.”

“It's no problem.” Peter looks up from his work. For a second, he debates saying more, something about how he knows what it's like to have someone he cares about on a hospital bed, how he knows what it's like to wish you could take their place.

He bites his lip and turns back to his work. There's no point in oversharing. Even now, two years later, thinking about that night hurts; why bring it up to a stranger?

Neither of them speak for a while.

Jonathan surprises him by turning slightly so he can face both Peter and his family member. Sister, if Ben is to believed. “So you… work here?”

Peter blinks in surprise. He didn't really expect Jonathan to try small talk. But everyone copes differently, he supposes. “Yeah. I'm Mr. Stark’s personal intern.”

That seems to surprise him. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Peter says, trying to keep in mind that this is just idle conversation, not someone making fun of him. “Super weird to be working a job like this when I'm this young, I know.”

“Eh. Just means you're some kind of supergenius right?” Jonathan shrugs and sends a slightly mournful at the next cot over, where Dr. Richards is lying. “Reed was like that, so it's not as weird as you might think.”

Being compared to Reed Richards is something of a dream come true. Being compared to Reed Richards by a grief stricken member of his family is a little more sobering.

“He’s gonna be fine, you know. Both him and your sister.” At Jonathan’s quiet, disbelieving snort, Peter pulls up the charts on his tablet. “No, really. Dr. Richards should be up any minute. Apparently he was even luckier than you, since he got through with just smoke inhalation and some minor burns. Your sister… She's got a few fractures and burns, but since Spiderman got her out first it's all fairly minor. It looks like it's just the smoke and the heat stroke keeping them under.”

Exactly _how_ they all got out so easy after a crash like that is a mystery in itself. Ben coming out of it with no injuries makes sense. But Dr. Richards having no blunt force trauma? Jonathan having no burns? Even Susan Storm’s injuries are odd; no lacerations from shrapnel, just burns from when she was lying in the flaming wreckage.

“You're an intern. Why would I believe you when you probably don't even have access to our files?” Jonathan doesn't sound like he's trying to start a fight. He sounds tired.

“I'm an important intern” is all Peter can think to say back. He cringes internally at the way that sounds out loud. Technically it's not a _lie,_ but jeez. Could he have sounded any more self-important if he tried?

“Wow,” Jonathan says, unimpressed. “Color me star struck.”

A deep flush creeps across Peter's face. He sinks a little deeper into the too-big hoodie that was either May's or Mr. Stark’s at some point. “I didn't mean it like that. I was trying to help.”

“Whatever.” Jonathan turns back around slowly, taking care not to jostle his injuries too much, and that seems to be the end of the conversation.

Wonderful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly shorter and more dialogue heavy, but on the upside i think there's gonna be more spidey interactions so

After an awkward but otherwise uneventful hour, Dr. Richards wakes up. Once Peter manages to assure him of his safety, he and Jonathan have an uncomfortable but heartfelt Thank God You’re Alive Moment while Peter lets Dr. Banner, Clint, Mr. Stark, and Ben know. 

Dr. Banner and Ben are there in a matter of minutes, and Peter is, for once, not feeling the urge to word vomit all over one of the greatest scientific minds of the last century. Probably because of the presence of his younger, slightly less friendly not-quite brother in law. 

Susan wakes up only twenty minutes later, to everyone’s immense relief. In the midst of all the excitement, Dr. Banner quietly dismisses Peter and tells him to get some rest. For the first time in… ever, Peter doesn’t argue the point; he’s exhausted.

He’s already on the 90th floor, so he takes the stairs to the 91st in a bid to avoid the elevator completely. 

It’s quiet when he arrives, as he expected.

It looks like Aunt May is reading on the couch, and from what Peter can tell, Mr. Stark is still tied up in his meeting with the government higher-ups. It’s just as well, since he’s not sure what Mr. Stark would do if he were here anyway. 

Mr. Stark has this odd habit of distancing himself while simultaneously hovering over Peter’s every move whenever he does something a little too dangerous for comfort. Peter’s running theory is that it’s because he  _ wants  _ to be angry about him throwing himself in danger, but realizing that the anger is misplaced when Peter takes those risks to help people. 

Aunt May has no such qualms. 

When Peter lands on the couch next to her, the crash is the only thing on the table for conversation. Apparently helicopter footage isn’t the best view of things happening in the confines of flaming wreckage, so she hadn’t had a clear idea of what was happening until Mr. Stark texted her.

_ “You’re  _ my kid. Not those other people,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know, I-- I do know, I  _ know _ that’s a crappy thing to say but what do you  _ want  _ me to say, Peter? You’re all I’ve got.”

He doesn’t want her to say anything. He wants to go to his room, or to collapse on the couch and watch bad sitcoms with his aunt and a metric ton of cheap takeout. “I had to save him. But I’ll be more careful.”

May just exhales and gives him a tired smile, reaching out to cup his cheek. Her thumb traces his cheekbone gently. “No you won’t. You don’t have a careful bone in your body.”

Regrettably, that’s true. 

“Being Spiderman… I'm  _ so  _ proud of you, sweetheart, I am. But it's hard, seeing you get hurt,” she continues after a moment. “And I’ll never like it. But as long as you’re not putting yourself in extra danger on purpose, or being stupid about it, I’ll back you on this. Deal?”

Peter’s fairly sure that she doesn’t expect a sudden armful of teenage boy, but she accepts it with all the grace of any mother worth her salt. After the day he’s had, with rockets crashing and collapsing  _ (collapsing falling crumbling on top of him crushing him suffocating--) _ and exploding and possibly-mutated-from-radiation survivors who seem to think he has an ego the size of the Empire State, he nearly sags with relief at being able to do something as simple as hug someone he loves. 

“ ‘S a deal,” he says, voice muffled by her shirt. 

May runs her fingers through his tangled hair and lets him be the one to pull away, almost a full minute later. “I hear that Mexican place down the street just reopened. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like cooking. Want to order in?”

It's like she read his mind. Creepy, but effective. 

He only ate a few hours ago, but they order enough for a small army anyway. It’s not like it won’t get eaten one way or another, whether it’s now or later. While they wait for the food to be delivered, Peter gets his wish; he and Aunt May curl up on one of Mr. Stark’s ridiculously big couches under one of his ridiculously soft blankets and watch terrible gameshows on one of his ridiculously big TVs. 

Neither of them is a fan of taking advantage of Mr. Stark’s generosity like this, but Peter is pretty sure May is less bothered by it than he is. In her eyes, Peter thinks, this is the least Mr. Stark can do.

He still doesn’t know exactly what happened while he was… gone. He’s one of the unlucky few that remember the inside of the soul stone. Flashes of a bright orange hellscape and the deafening screams of trillions of souls haunt his nightmares daily, but what he knows of what happened in the outside world during those few months is limited to what Mr. Stark allows FRIDAY to tell him and what the people around him are willing to divulge. The one concrete thing he’s managed to glean from anyone is that Aunt May didn’t take the news well, even less so when she heard that Peter was a thousand lightyears away when it happened. 

Needless to say, Mr. Stark had fallen even further out of her good graces for a while, before she watched him almost literally move heaven and earth to fix things. 

Their relationship is a rocky one, so Peter is fairly sure that Aunt May cares about spending Mr. Stark’s money about as much as Mr. Stark cares about Aunt May spending it. 

Peter, for his part, doesn’t blame either of them for what happened. He’s just glad neither of them were imprisoned in the stone with him. Not that he’s ever planning on saying that out loud again. Not after the way Mr. Stark looked at him after Peter said so after a particularly bad nightmare, like something inside him shattered in that moment.  

The food arrives halfway through their second episode of  _ Family Feud, _ along with a message from Clint asking if there’s room for one more if he brings the food to them. Peter is too comfortable to move, and Aunt May doesn’t mind, so they send him a confirmation via FRIDAY.

“Ooh, I love this episode,” he says, plopping down on the couch next to Peter a few minutes later. “I actually know the answers for once.”

Peter narrows his eyes suspiciously at Clint from underneath his blanket burrito. “Aren’t you like, a superspy?”

“Superspy, yes. Trivia nerd, no.” Clint reaches for one of the bags of tortilla chips. 

Of all the Avengers, Clint is the one that spends the most time in New York. He’s at the Tower more often than not nowadays, so Peter’s gotten a lot more comfortable with him out of necessity. It helps that they share the same objectively awesome sense of humor and love of dad jokes. 

Also, May likes him. So that’s a plus too. 

The three of them binge nine more episodes of  _ Family Feud _ and two episodes of  _ Wheel of Fortune _ before Mr. Stark gets back. He only looks a little bit murderous, which means the meeting with the Secretary of Defense went better than usual. 

Peter nudges a carton of chilaquiles toward him without a word. 

~~~~

Jonathan, Ben, Dr. Richards, and Ms. Storm only agree to be kept in the Tower for a week of observation after Jonathan spontaneously combusts and nearly sets the medbay on fire. 

During that time, Jonathan studiously ignores Peter while the others just seem to have no idea what to make of him during the short periods of time they see him. For the most part, he spends his time in his lab or on patrol, doing everything in his power to keep from sleeping. 

They’re staying on the floor below Peter, May, and Mr. Stark, where Dr. Banner and Clint tend to stay while they’re in town. Peter just thanks Mr. Stark’s foresight in making all the bedrooms in the Tower soundproof, or he’s fairly sure his nightmares would have woken up Dr Richards, who’s in the room below him, on the very first night. 

Peter resolves to spend as little time as possible asleep while the crash victims are here, if only so that they don’t have to deal with post-nightmare Peter. Sleep-deprived Peter tends to spend most of his time in his lab or curled up in his aunt’s lap, so he figures that’s a decent tradeoff for the otherwise sour mood. Post-nightmare Peter has a tendency to dissociate and be nihilistic enough to completely throw people’s perception of him off. 

It’s a pretty solid plan and it goes swimmingly until day four, when Ms. Sue Storm stumbles upon Peter in his lab at four in the morning, escaping from the inevitable nightmare he’d had after succumbing to sleep for longer than three hours.

“You’re here late,” she says, leaning on the doorframe. 

Peter heard her coming, so he’s not surprised, but he’s a little irritated; he’s been keeping his distance from the crash victims so he doesn’t have another incident like he did with Jonathan that first day. Now he’s in post-nightmare mode, so there’s almost no way this is going to end well. 

“I live here,” is all he says, soldering the cover shut over the control panel of the Spy-der bot he’s working on. 

“In the lab? You sound like Reed.”

“I live in the room  _ above  _ Dr. Richard’s.” Peter just barely manages not to snap. In his defense, it’s been four days since he’s gotten more than two hours of sleep. “May as well live here though.”

Ms. Storm just hums, not seeming at all put off by his attitude. “Well now you sound like Johnny. I think he’s in the garage right now. Spends all his time there, when we’re not being tested.”

“Good for him.” Peter turns to his tablet and pulls up the code for the Spy-der. None of it is labelled, so even though Ms. Storm technically doesn’t have the clearance to see it, it shouldn’t give away anything damning. 

Ms. Storm says nothing for a moment, and Peter gets the distinct impression that she’s watching him. “Can I ask you a favor, Peter?”

He makes an affirmative noise as he scans through lines of code. 

“Johnny’s been off the last few days. He won’t talk to me about it. I know you don’t know him very well, but I was hoping you could go down and talk to him. If he had someone his own age to talk to…” Ms. Storm trails off, seeming unsure.

“All due respect, Ms. Storm, but not on your life.” He finally looks up and sees the stricken look on her face. His tired brain realizes exactly how harsh that must sound, so he expands on it. “Here’s the thing. Your brother doesn’t strike me as the suicidal type. Am I wrong?”

“Well… no.” She clearly has no idea where he’s going with this.

“So to me, that means one of three things, depending on how and why exactly he ended up on that rocket with you. Either he has a guilt complex, a hero complex, or both. Was he supposed to be on the ship?”

“No.” 

Peter lets out a long breath and leans his head on his hand. “Is it even a little bit possible that something he did while on the ship caused something to go wrong?”

“Of course not!” Ms. Storm bristles, looking defensive on her brother’s behalf. 

But she’s not answering the question. Maybe Peter isn’t asking it right. “But does he see it that way?”

“I--” Ms. Storm deflates almost immediately. “I don’t know.”

That’s a yes. “Then, the way I see it, you’re the one that needs to talk to him. Not some kid he hates that happens to be sharing a building with him.”

Besides, they couldn’t pay him enough to go into that garage. 

Ms. Storm has a million emotions flying through her eyes, but she keeps her calm remarkably well. “How would you know so much about Johnny, Peter?”

She’s not going to leave until he explains himself. That stubborn look in her eye reminds him of Aunt May, or maybe MJ. He’s never been able to hold out against a look like that, and he’s a little too tired to embarrass himself by trying. So he sighs and moves his chair a foot to the left. 

“Karen, I’m going to show Ms. Storm the footage from the Iron Spider suit, last Thursday at around 3pm.”

His holotable projects the image of the crashsite almost immediately. Peter fast forwards through it.

“Before you get any crazy ideas as to why I have this footage,” Peter says as he scrolls through the footage second by second, “Mr. Stark designs Spiderman’s suits, but with all the craziness these last few months, updates and upgrades have fallen to me. Here we are.”

The footage of Jonathan and Ms. Storm lying in the fiery ruins of the rocket is blurry and colorful, as infrared often is. 

“Karen, switch the footage to normal mode.”

Luckily, the suit records in infrared, nightvision, and normal by default, regardless of what’s being used. The voice modulator for the suit is also on a different setting from the ones Mr. Stark embeds in his binders so he doesn’t strain his voice, so the audio won’t give anything away. 

Peter presses play. 

On the screen, he sees his own gloved hands reach out toward Jonathan.  _ “I’ll get you both out of here! Take my hand.” _

Jonathan squints through the smoke before heaving Ms. Storm’s unconscious body to him with immense effort.  _ “Take her first,” _ he says, weakly enough that the suit’s mic barely picks it up. 

“Pause.” At his command, the footage pauses. He turns to look at Ms. Storm, whose hand is covering her mouth in something like horror.

The look on Jonathan’s face in the suitcam footage is one Peter knows too well to mistake. It’s the look of someone who’s decided to sacrifice themselves for someone else’s sake. Outside of the basic stuff he found after a quick google search, Peter doesn’t know a thing about Jonathan Storm. But he does know that, in that moment, he didn’t plan on making it out alive. 

“You know him better than I do,” Peter says, as carefully as he can. “But moments like this tell you a lot about a person.  _ Something  _ made him make that choice. He won’t tell me what it was. He doesn’t even like me.  _ You’re  _ his family.”

For an instant, Peter is reminded that Ms. Storm, for all that she seems like an adult whenever Peter sees her in passing, is only four years older than her brother. For all the life experience she has with things like this, she may as well be as young as Peter. Younger, even, since he has so much experience in it. 

There’s a long, awkward moment where they both try to figure out exactly what to say before Peter bites the bullet, looking her straight in the eye. 

“Look, Ms. Storm. I’m the  _ worst _ person to come to about this sort of thing. So I’ll repeat what I said earlier: there’s no way in heck that I’ll try to talk to Jonathan about this. For all of your sakes.”

She seems to process what he says before looking at him with something like respect. There’s something underneath it though, something like pity that makes Peter want to squirm. “You’ve thought this through.”

Peter turns back to his screen full of code. “I just know a thing or two about self-sacrificing types.”

Ms. Storm is undoubtedly going to think he’s talking about Mr. Stark, which is fine. In her head, Mr. Stark is Jonathan in this scenario. She doesn’t need to know that in this case, Peter is a better fit. Once they’re done with testing and observation, they’ll probably be lucky to ever see each other again. Dumping his own unhealthy hero complex on this woman would just be unfair. 

“You keeping my intern awake, Sue?” 

Well, speak of the devil. 

Peter startles a little at Mr. Stark’s tired voice coming from out of nowhere. “No, sir, Mr. Stark. I was already awake.”

“I don’t like that I have no trouble believing that.” Mr. Stark says. He turns to Ms. Storm with a raised eyebrow. “According to FRIDAY, your brother is getting dangerously close to my Bugatti collection. Do him a favor and make sure he doesn’t do something he’ll regret.”

Ms. Storm barely spares a glance in Mr. Stark’s direction before leaving the room. Whatever the survivors’ issue with Mr. Stark is, it doesn’t seem like it’s been diminished with the fact that he saved their lives. He, similarly, doesn’t seem to care much. 

A bundle of soft fabric nails him in the skull. A t-shirt. Mr. Stark’s, if the Black Sabbath logo is anything to go off of. 

“Come on kid,” he says, looking as tired as Peter feels. “You’ve gotta get some rest if you didn’t even notice that coming. Nightmares or no.”

Peter has no intention of sleeping any more tonight, and they both know it. But he still follows Mr. Stark back to their floor and they crash on the couch the way they always do when it’s Mr. Stark and not Aunt May that finds him awake at all hours of the morning. He still pulls the shirt over his head obediently, and it still helps him relax a little bit. For a moment, he considers asking Mr. Stark if his self-sacrificial streak would even matter if he wasn’t Spiderman. 

But he abolishes that thought in almost the same instant. There isn’t much that would matter if he wasn’t Spiderman; having a self-sacrificial streak like Peter’s would probably be of no use to anyone without Spiderman. 

It’s just that talk with Ms. Storm and his own exhaustion that’s making him ask obvious questions that don’t need answers. So he puts that question away, and tries valiantly to ignore the way it keeps resurfacing. 

Sleep is a long time coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sue is... an interesting character. especially in the early days, when she's essentially a kid raising a kid. most people seem to agree that she's no more than 3-5 years older than johnny, which means that at this point she's about 20. speaking as a 19 year old, i'd think sue has no idea how to proceed in a situation like this
> 
> and, to clarify, since it's not specified, no. peter isn't wearing a binder at 4am. tony would have his hide. i like to think that, after the events of IW, while dysphoria would still be an issue, it's not exactly peter's top concern anymore (before i get angry people in the comments telling me how unrealistic that is, that's my own experience as a trans author who's been through trauma. yes i'm projecting, let me live)


	3. Chapter 3

Ms. Storm is a little less awkward around him after that night, though she still doesn’t seem to have a solid idea of how to act around him. Ben seems the most comfortable around him of the four of them, but even he’s a little weird.

So Peter makes himself scarce.

He patrols more often, since he can’t take full on assignments without Mr. Stark or Aunt May might actually ground him. Even just hanging out on rooftops and stumbling on petty crime is better than being stuck in the Tower at all hours of the day.

Luckily, the four of them are only staying in the Tower for another week. Personally, Peter knows he would survive it just fine if they needed to stay longer, but he’s not sure Mr. Stark can say the same.

He and Dr. Richards constantly butt heads over the implications of the biochemical changes the radiation made to their bodies, and Ms. Storm and Ben are always as quick to come to Dr. Richards’ defense as Dr. Banner is to come to Mr. Stark’s. The underlying tension is killer.

Dr. Richards has his sights set on the Baxter Building in Manhattan, and Mr. Stark gives him all the connections he needs to make the purchase as quickly as possible.

Peter has the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Stark got the seller to lower the price substantially so they’ll be able to get out faster. But regardless of the logistics, they’re out of the Tower after they agree to come back weekly for testing and training to ensure that, regardless of whether or not they decide to sign the accords, they at last don’t pose a danger to the rest of the population. Particularly Jonathan and Ben.

Once they’re gone, it’s back to business as usual. When he’s not out webslinging, he’s in the lab. On rare occasions, Ms. Potts enlists him in actual intern work. At some point, paperwork gets filed that lists Peter as the head of the intern program and puts all of the grad students-- _grad students!_ \--in the program under his jurisdiction.

He’s not stupid; he knows they’re keeping him busy so that at least his waking hours are a little better than his sleeping ones. It’s working too.

The nightmares aren’t getting any better, but he’s getting better at being present when he’s awake. It’s a temporary solution at best, a stopgap until the rest of the world stabilizes enough that they can all afford to just sit down and heal.

It’s not for two more weeks that he runs into any of the crash survivors again, and it’s in his mask.

The city seems to have taken this first drama after the snap and held onto it with a vice grip. Dr. Richards, Ms. Storm, Ben, and Jonathan are all but catapulted into stardom, doing interviews with talk show hosts, news anchors, and magazines. But they didn’t get in any trouble for the illegal rocket launch, thanks to Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark, so there isn’t a scandal to follow.

Without a scandal, things are bound to die down as quickly as they get started. At least that’s what MJ says, and she’s the one studying PR and journalism so Peter is inclined to believe here.

It’s pure coincidence that when a scandal does arise, Spiderman is close enough that Karen alerts him to the disturbance.

“Peter, there seems to be commotion on FDR Drive, near the toll bridge. Would you like me to plot you a course there?”

He’s already on his way there. “Sure. Any specific details you can give me?”

“According to social media feeds, Sue and Johnny Storm have been discovered fully naked in the middle of the street.”

A very small part of Peter wants to laugh, but the majority of him winces. That’s his worst nightmare, personally. Not that either of them have anything to be ashamed of in that category since they’re both absolute knockouts, but in an area like that, when they’re already in the public eye? He can’t help but feel a little sympathy.

He swings by the roof he’d gotten changed on and grabs his backpack. There’s only one change of clothes, but something tells him that Mr. Stark’s old shirt will be more than large enough to cover Ms. Storm, leaving May’s sweats free for Jonathan.

So Peter is a clothes thief, so what?

It only takes him a few minutes to get to the toll bridge. From there, it’s not hard to see where Jonathan and Ms. Storm are, mostly because Jonathan is on fire. The crowd points at him once he’s in sight, ooh-ing and ah-ing (and boo-ing, thank you Mr. J. Jonah Jameson) as he flips nimbly from beam to beam across the bridge.

“Hey! You guys look like you could use a hand.” He lands lightly in front of Jonathan, who’s flames are covering him from public eyes. Ms. Storm is standing behind him, as close as she can without getting burned, so she can use him as a shield.

Peter hands her the backpack. “There’s a shirt in there that should help, and some sweats for matchstick over here. Best I could do on short notice, but I can swing you guys home once you’re decent.”

“It’s more than we expected,” Sue says, holding up the backpack to cover as much of herself as she can. “Would you mind, uh…”

It takes a second for her meaning to sink in. “Oh, right! Totally.”

He goes around so his back is facing hers, shooing off the rubberneckers and giving her as much privacy as he can manage in a place like this. The heat radiating from Jonathan is a bit uncomfortable, but nothing unbearable.

“So…” he says awkwardly, still waving away people who don’t understand the meaning of common decency, “This a powers thing or what? I mean, no judgement either way I guess, just-- I mean I ripped a few doors off their hinges before I got the hang of mine. At least there’s no property damage involved with this, so you’re already doing better than me.”

“You really do talk a lot.” Jonathan sounds more snarky than a naked guy in the middle of the street has any right to be. “Wonder what else the tabloids got right?”

Peter just rolls his eyes, thinking about the Daily Bugle and its weird obsession with him even now. “Not much. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not some creepy thirty year old running around in spandex pretending to save people and then charging them money or whatever last week’s story was.”

“Nah, last week’s was that you were paying _them.”_ Jonathan says back easily.

This is something else that’s been a little jarring: once he’d recovered a bit and gotten into the spotlight, this new side of Jonathan Storm appeared. Gone was the sour guy who spent every waking moment visibly worrying about his family. In his place was this unshakeable pillar of personality and snark. Of the four of them, he was the one with the most interviews, the most spotlight, and he seemed to be thriving on it. Even something like this didn’t seem to be bugging him.

“If you two are _done,”_ Ms. Storm says, sounding irritated, “I’d like to go home.”

Peter turns around, hands covering the visual sensors of his mask. “You decent? Like I said, I don't mind giving you guys a lift home.”

“I’m decent.”

When he uncovers his eyes, he sees that the shirt does indeed cover enough that carrying her will be less awkward than anticipated. Behind her, Jonathan has extinguished and is pulling on the soft grey sweats that are definitely a little bit on the small side.

“You know,” he says in a tone that’s _just_ this side of whiny, “Reed said I could fly.”

 _“Theoretically,”_ Ms. Storm is quick to say, sounding as if this is something they’ve had to go over more than once. She turns to Peter. “In the meantime, we’ll take you up on that lift if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it! You don’t live too far and it’s not like I have anywhere to be.” Which isn’t a lie. Crime is down exponentially; most of the time, hanging around on rooftops and scooping cats out of trees is the most action he sees outside of relief efforts.

He puts a hand to his ear a little bit redundantly, to show the Storms that he’s not talking to them. “Karen, logistically what’s the least awkward way to carry these guys so I can swing ‘em home?”

“Taking into account what I know of you, you should have Jonathan on your back and carry Susan with your free arm. Though, given your track record with one-armed swinging, it would be safer and more practical to take them home one at a time on your back.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me,” Peter says drily. But, as usual, she’s right. He probably _could_ get them home without swinging them all into a wall, but it would be a gamble.

He looks back at Jonathan and Ms. Storm. “So, my suit’s AI thinks I should take you guys home one at a time. Otherwise we run the risk of becoming building pancakes.”

Jonathan blinks. “Building… pancakes.”

“Not fun, zero out of ten, wouldn’t recommend. Speaking from experience. So!” Peter claps his hands. “It’s about a five minute trip one way, since you guys _rock_ and didn’t actually leave Manhattan. So shall we, Ms. Storm?”

Peter kneels so she-- or Jonathan, he supposes, but something tells him it’s Ms. Storm that’s coming on this first trip since at least he has _pants_ \--can get on his back with minimal trouble.

“Don’t drop me,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I probably wouldn’t die and then I’d never forgive you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve done this a hundred times.” He stands up once she’s situated and gives Jonathan a salute. “Back in ten!”

“Can’t _wait.”_

Ooh, sarcasm. Wonderful. Peter still can’t decide whether he likes this version of Jonathan more than the one he met in the Tower.

Webslinging has a number of cons (see: building pancakes) but no traffic is one of the best pros and Peter isn’t sure he’d give that up for anything. If her excited little _whoop_ s are anything to go by, Ms. Storm is having fun too, once she gets used to the short free falls.

“It’s awesome, right?” he calls back to her.

Ms. Storm doesn’t answer him for another minute or so, until they’ve touched down on the roof of the Baxter Building.

“Not my ideal way to travel, but that’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be,” she admits.

“Beats getting stuck in traffic or on the subway-- what?” Ms. Storm’s eyes have widened as she looks at something behind him. When Peter turns to look, his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he gets annoyed.

The bolt of fire in the sky can’t be anyone but Jonathan, and if May’s sweats haven’t survived the fire, Peter is going to be _very irritated._

“Excuse me for a second,” he mutters, “I need to go get your brother before someone else gets to him first.”

The five minute trip takes him two now that he’s irritated and not maneuvering around Ms. Storm. He touches down lightly on a rooftop near where Jonathan appears to be clumsily attempting to stay in midair.

“You know,” Peter calls, “I’m supposed to give those sweatpants _back,_ so I really hope you left them on the sidewalk or something.”

“Trying to get me out of my pants already?” Jonathan sounds like he's kidding, but Peter still chokes on his own spit. “At least buy me dinner first.”

“Tell you what. Turn those flames off and tell me those pants are intact, I'll show you the best darn view the city has to offer. Once you're cleared for flight.” Not a great recovery, but he’s not used to that kind of shameless flirting. Sue him.

“That's a lot of conditions.”

“You're breaking a lot of rules,” Peter shoots back.

“You're literally a vigilante but go off I guess,” Jonathan says, extinguishing his flames and landing hard on the ground. As expected, he’s naked again, but there’s no telling whether the pants came off first or if they burned up.

Peter mimes being shot and collapsed dramatically to the ground, tactfully avoiding landing anywhere that lets him see anything he doesn’t want to. “Oof. Dead meme.”

Being Spiderman is great because he can be as dramatic as he wants without people questioning it. There’s no expectation that because he’s joking around, he’s hiding something. Though, to be fair, the fact that he’s joking around is usually a pretty clear indication that he’s hiding something.

“The meme only dies if you let it, and that one will never die.”

That’s just objectively untrue on every level and Peter is more than prepared to tell Jonathan about each and every one of them in explicit detail, if only because he has nothing better to do for the moment, but before he has the chance Mr. Stark is patched through to his comms.

_“Pete? We’re getting some weird reports from Manhattan. Which is, coincidentally, where you seem to be. Explanation?”_

“One second,” Peter says to Jonathan, pointing to his mask before going back to the question. “Nothing big, Mr. Stark! Jonathan Storm just discovered that he can fly and I think some people were recording. No threats or anything.”

He barely picks up Jonathan’s cynical, almost offended _“Jonathan?”_ from somewhere above and behind him.

Peter risks a glance over to where Jonathan was before. He nearly cries in relief when he sees that May’s sweatpants have, miraculously, survived, and are on Jonathan’s person. He shifts into a kneeling position and waves at Jonathan, signaling him to get on his back like his sister did. Jonathan may be able to fly now, but there’s no possible way he’s already gotten the hang of it, given how clumsy he’d been when Peter got here. Besides, until Ms. Storm decides on her stance with the Accords, she and Jonathan are both _technically_ not allowed to use their powers without supervision.

Jonathan’s face twists into something that’s almost assuredly sarcastic, but he wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and his legs around his waist.

 _“Damn, he really can fly? I owe Richards fifty bucks.”_ Mr. Stark definitely rolls his eyes. Peter is sure of it even if he can’t see it. _“Well, tell the kid to be careful. He and Richards can come over tomorrow and we can give him a place to practice until he can get the hang of it.”_

Once he’s sure Jonathan is secure and won’t fall off, Peter stands up and starts swinging back toward the Baxter Building.

“Got it.”

_“Get home soon, kid. Your aunt wants to make some gluten free casserole monstrosity and I’m not going through that alone.”_

Peter can’t help but laugh. “Alright, sir. Will do.”

Mr. Stark hangs up the call just as Peter swings them past the best pizza shop in Manhattan. He makes a mental note to stop by there on his next patrol in the area, since it’s been a while.

“Mr. Stark wants you to practice at the Tower until you get the hang of the whole…” Peter wiggles the fingers of his free hand before his next swing. “Flying on fire thing.”

The sound that comes out of Jonathan’s mouth makes him think the guy is biting his tongue to stop himself from telling Spiderman exactly where Mr. Stark can shove his requests, which is something Peter is actually pretty familiar with. May and Dr. Banner both do it pretty often.

But Jonathan just sighs, close enough to Peter’s ear that he can hear it over the rush of air going past them. “Johnny.”

Blink. Swing. “What?”

“It’s Johnny. No one calls me Jonathan, it’s weird.”

“Alright,” Peter says easily. It’s not a new thing, being told to call someone something other than the first name he decides on out of sheer politeness. It won’t be the last. And despite what Mr. Stark thinks, Peter is actually pretty good at making those kinds of switches. It’s just fun to mess with Mr. Stark about harmless things like that.

Plus, Johnny seems to like Spiderman a little more than Peter Parker. No surprise there, but Johnny never said anything about Peter calling him Jonathan until the mask. So maybe he prefers it from Peter because he doesn’t like him?

Whatever. That’s a thought for another time.

They land on the roof of the Baxter Building a little more than a minute later, and Johnny dismounts almost immediately. He looks at Peter, more serious than the person Peter’s been seeing at interviews and in tabloids.

“The day of the crash,” he says slowly, looking straight into the eyes of Peter’s mask, “you were there. You saved Sue’s life. I never got the chance to thank you.”

Blink. “Oh, um… don’t worry about it. I was just doing my thing. I wasn’t about to let either of you die.”

Johnny considers him for a moment. “Yeah, okay,” he says, sounding like he has a hundred more things to say. He smirks. “So, about that trip you promised to show me?”

“Not ‘till you’re cleared for flight, hotshot. Do me a favor and drop those clothes off to Peter Parker tomorrow.” Peter winks and turns away.

“Oh, _hotshot_. Real original. How would you even _know_ when I’m cleared?” Johnny doesn’t seem pleased at the mention of Peter’s name, but the smirk hasn’t left his face.

“I’ll have Parker let me know.” Peter smiles to himself under the mask before swinging away.

It’s not surprising that Johnny likes Spiderman more than Peter Parker. Peter does too. Maybe they can be friends anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> also a note:  
> i do read your comments!!! i'm just ridiculously awkward and idk how to like. interact with people. but!!! i love reading through the comment section, it makes me more motivated to write! so tysm people that comment (and extrasuperspecial ty to those of you who leave those like, paragraph-long ones u the real mvp)!!!


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